I Turned 29… Now what?

One thing that you should know about me is that ever since I moved to France, away from all things familiar and people I love, I’ve started feeling irrationally upset during my birthday period every year. I turned 29 this month, and this time was not an exception.

Maybe, it happens because it reminds me that my close friends and family are not just a few kilometers away anymore to celebrate my birthday with me. Maybe, it’s a result of my own doing — purposely not making a big deal out of it. Or maybe, it’s simply the anxiety of aging and never having certainty about what’s bound to happen in this new chapter of my life.

Let me tell you… 29 is the worst (so far). This is the year when I truly felt the clock ticking and realized how much time I’ve wasted making the wrong choices or simply not acting. When I was younger, 29 for me was the penultimate “young” adult phase, a time when you’re already in the middle of having your shit together. It’s the last year when it’s still relatively okay to have some screw-ups here and there, because when I turn 30, I should be the more stable, responsible version of myself.

I guess I’m wrong. Surprise, surprise — I’m nowhere near the picture I painted in my head. I remember, when my Mom was 29, I viewed her as a super adult, the one who always had a backup plan and had her stuff figured out. I’ve always wondered how she managed, but maybe she faked it (only God knows, but I tell you she’s amazing).